


Shelf Life

by Apricot



Category: Zombieland (2009)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking Games, Explicit Language, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Underage Drinking, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apricot/pseuds/Apricot
Summary: “You know what I found out doesn’t expire?”Columbus draped his double-barrelled shotgun precariously over his lap and eyed the amber bottle in Tallahassee’s hand. “Is it…tequila?”“It’s tequila."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haywire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haywire/gifts).



> All the Yuletide cookies go to aurilly for beta'ing this!

Some rules for road-tripping in Zombieland:

  1. Watch out for speed bumps. Unfortunately, some happen to still be alive. At worst it can bang up the hood of your ride, and at best it leaves a lot of guts in the chassis. Somebody’s gotta scrape that out.
  2. Road trip car games can make the time go by faster, but avoid playing punch-bug with Tallahassee. Also, don’t teach games that involve punching to Tallahassee.
  3. Overall? Try to avoid riding shotgun with someone who’s getting ready to dump you.



Columbus had added that last rule about three hours ago, which was about one hour into the most painful awkward silence of his life. It was the third in a series of awkward silences over the past few days.

He chanced a glance over at Wichita behind the wheel, who had kept her eyes fixed on the road for the past few hours. Which was good, because she was driving, obviously, but somehow felt like it did not bode well for the future of their relationship.

“Hey, crows,” he tried. It was a lame conversational opener, but they were driving through the southwest corner of Wyoming and there was literally nothing _to_ point out except fucking crows. And grass. There hadn’t even been any zombies in the past hour.

 Wichita only made a vague _mmhmm_ noise, which…yeah, not great.

It wasn’t like…well, it wasn’t like he thought he and Wichita were gonna settle down with a white-picket fence and pop out a bunch of kids in the middle of the apocalypse. They probably had _some_ sort of expiration date and despite the whole _last-man/woman-on-earth_ thing, the odds weren’t with them. The likelihood that any of them were gonna last in a world where most of the population was actively trying to eat the _rest_ of the population wasn’t great. Yeah, he wasn’t actually the last-man-on-earth and the girls _had_ stuck around even after they’d encountered a few other survivors, but those guys had either been assholes or idiots.

(“She’d probably have left me for Bill Murray, but thankfully I shot him,” he’d tried to joke weakly to Tallahassee. Tallahassee had given him a look that made him keep his mouth shut for the next 200 miles.)

Still, things had been going really well before he’d tipped his luck in Salt Lake City.

They’d been alone, which was pretty rare considering their home tended to be whatever the most operational four-door vehicle in the area was and they happened to share that with two other people. They’d been holding hands, and he’d looked over at her, and she’d _smiled_ , and it had just seemed so right—

“There,” Wichita said.

“What?”

The endless beige fields had finally given way to a small strip mall, with a handful of stores and a gas station. There were a few zombies roaming around the parking lot, but it didn’t look too bad. It was the first sign of life (or, at least, previous civilization) that they’d come across for hours.

“Oh, cool,” he said, sensing an opportunity. His eyes flicked to the coin laundromat that stood next to a boarded-up bar. “I didn’t bring any quarters, though.”  
  
She didn’t laugh. It really hadn’t been funny, though, he thought with a wince.

Tallahassee had been snoring, Little Rock’s head on his shoulder. He woke up as the car slowed.

“Mm?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes blearily, and then groaned as he tried to stretch his legs as far as the backseat would allow. “’Bout damn time.”

They hadn’t stopped for longer than a few hours since leaving Salt Lake. They’d stayed a few nights in a church, but that had ended when they’d been swarmed by a dozen zombies in nearly identical white shirts and ties. Two had tightly-fitted bike helmets. And trying to fight zombies wearing protective headgear? A bitch. Tallahassee had ended up decapitating them with a greasy bike chain—at the same time. It had been messy.

They'd all felt like putting some distance between them and Utah.

The zombies in the parking lot, a man and a woman, immediately tried to rush the car as they pulled to a stop. They banged against the car doors, snarling and scraping their bloodied fingernails against the windshield.

Tallahassee leaned over to grab the crowbar he’d tucked safely into the back of the driver’s seat. “I got this.”

He slid out of the back. The zombies immediately zeroed in on him and started to stagger his way.

Columbus glanced at Wichita, who was drumming her fingertips against the wheel. “So…”

 _Thump._ The first zombie went down, splattering the hood with a thick gush of bile and blood and other fluids no one wanted to identify.

She finally looked over at him. The expression on her face was almost impossible to read, and he faltered.

 _Thump._ The second zombie crashed against Wichita’s door. Tallahassee whooped as the crowbar smacked against the side of the zombie’s skull the second time. Without another word to Columbus, she shoved the door open hard so the zombie sprawled over the pavement instead.

Yeah. He was _so_ getting dumped.

Little Rock slid out of the car and he followed her. There didn’t seem to be any other zombies roaming around, but then there hadn’t been anything for miles.

Tallahassee squinted in the sunlight, and swung the crowbar like a baseball bat while Wichita popped the trunk to get the shopping bags they used when scavenging a place. “Did you _see_ how that fucker just went _splat_? Like a grasshopper on the windshield—”

“Yeah, awesome,” Columbus said.

Little Rock scanned the strip mall. “Where _are_ we?”

“The middle of nowhere,” Wichita said, grabbing a tote and the rest of the weapons. “I’ll take the gas station with Tallahassee. You and Columbus take the laundromat.”

Columbus opened his mouth to object, but Wichita had already turned on her heel to start heading over to the gas station. “Cool.”

They usually stopped to check out and scavenge what they could when they found something that wasn’t too zombie-heavy. This place had been hit, definitely, but most of the places looked boarded-up. That was good. Unless, of course, they happened to be boarded up and filled with zombies. Then that was bad.

He looked over at the gas station one more time, but Tallahassee and Wichita had already disappeared inside.

The laundromat was one of those coin-operated ones, the kind of place that had looked run down and apocalyptic even before the world had gone…well, apocalyptic. Little Rock pressed her face against the glass door and rapped the barrel of the gun against the unbroken glass panel.

Nothing. She shrugged at Columbus.

The bottom glass panel had been shattered, so she picked her way through it, careful not to get caught on broken glass. Once inside, she unlocked the latch to let Columbus in. The bell on top of the door rang in a bright, cheery way that tried and failed to make up for the dreariness of the place. The laundromat was dusty, and looked pretty abandoned. Their feet crunched on shattered glass as they picked their way past the industrial dryers set into the wall.

A muffled thumping to his right made Columbus jump.

A zombie had been locked inside one of the big dryers, and it had spotted them. Little Rock peered at it through the frosted glass and then grinned as the zombie batted the door, looking furious to be within inches of its prey. The space was small enough that it couldn’t get leverage to knock open the door from the inside, or maybe it was just locked.

“How do you think he got in there?” she said, tapping the glass.

The zombie snarled.

“Don’t do that,” Columbus said.

The zombie started to pound at the door, but it wasn’t budging. Little Rock shrugged.

“Too bad the power’s out,” she said. “We could give him a spin cycle.”

On the other hand, maybe it was good he’d gone with Little Rock. She was clearly spending too much time with Tallahassee.

It was a small laundromat. The dryers lined three of the four walls, and the inside was a maze of washing machines. A large vending machine was near the folding tables, flanked by three smaller mechanical vending machines, the kind that spat out candy or toys for quarters. The glass had gone opaque with dust.

There was a bathroom too—he checked it—but no zombies.

Little Rock started to check the washing machines and unoccupied dryers for any clothing left behind.  
  
“So… what’s going on with you and my sister?” she said casually, letting the lid of a washing machine fall down with a _clang._

“Nothing,” he said immediately, his heart leaping into his throat. “…Why? Did she say anything? Did she say something was going on?”

“Chill.” Little Rock moved down the line to check the next washing machine. “You guys haven’t been talking much, is all. Not since Utah.”

He tried to play it off. “Oh. Well, it’s been fine.”

“Cool.”

He was dying to ask if Wichita had said anything, but he was a little afraid of the response. He forced himself to turn around, grabbing one of the rolling laundry wire baskets that had been blocking the folding tables and swinging it into the glass of the vending machine.

The metal against the glass made a terrific crashing sound, but it barely cracked. He had just jerked the wire basket free for another swing when the door chimed again.

A zombie shambled inside from the parking lot. It spotted Columbus and started after him with voracious intent, arms flailing. Columbus had a few yards on it, but managed to trip back against the wire cart he’d been trying to break the vending machine with. He banged into one of the high folding tables and his gun clanked as it knocked against the counter and fell onto the floor.

“Here!” Little Rock called.

The sound momentarily distracted the zombie as it turned on her, snarling. It was only for a second, because it turned again on Columbus, deciding he was the closer meal. Little Rock grabbed another one of the rolling baskets, and sent it careening toward Columbus. He managed to pull himself to his feet and, grabbing hold of it tightly, swung it into the zombie’s midsection.

The zombie went stumbling back, knocked off balance before it tripped over the first basket—much like Columbus had done—and stumbled into the vending machine. This time, the cracked glass shattered. The zombie’s head struck against the empty wire rings, sending one jamming through the softened, decayed flesh and through the rotted cheek. It gurgled its indignation, but it was stuck, the ring hooked around the cheekbone and jaw. It tried to jerk free, reaching frantically for Columbus as he brought down the wire basket the second time, smashing its head.

They waited a second, but it didn’t move again.

“Ew, _gross._ ” Little Rock came closer to look at it. “I hope it didn’t get any brains on the gum. I really wanted gum.”

There were still a few bags of chips left in the machine, as well as a few candy bars and _one_ pack of gum. Little Rock pocketed it happily.  She also insisted on patiently feeding the quarters they’d found scattered on the floor in front of a broken cash register into the small vending machines. By the time Columbus managed to break into the powdered detergent dispenser and extract several packets of soap, she had six rubber balls and a few plastic containers that each held a temporary tattoo. She was grinning by the time they headed back to the parking lot.

Tallahassee and Wichita were already waiting. In fact, Tallahassee seemed to be in a terrible mood. He was still swinging the crowbar, although with much less delight then he had before. Wichita headed over to them, grimacing.

“So…how’d it go?” Columbus asked.

“Okay,” she said, opening up the grungy _Welcome to the Mile High City_ tote they’d picked up somewhere in Colorado. There was an assortment of water bottles and energy bars inside. “We found some… _you know.”_

Tallahassee kicked a can hard across the parking lot, where it struck a set of garbage cans. Another zombie heard the noise and began tottering toward them, its foot wrenched at an uncomfortable-looking angle. Tallahassee seemed happy to take out some of his anger issues on the thing.

Columbus glanced at Wichita, perplexed. If they’d found Twinkies, Tallahassee should be in a _great_ mood.

Wichita met his eyes and shook her head. “Look—” She rummaged through the tote to pull something out. It looked almost like a Twinkie, except the yellow snack-cake had gone a slightly blueish-gray. The cellophane wrapper had puffed up to enormous heights, leaving the withered thing inside looking like the tiny, evil, zombie version of a Twinkie.

“I told him, I just think the damp got to this one,” she whispered. “I mean, it doesn’t mean they’re _all_ bad, maybe just this one is…”

In front of them, the zombie wasn’t doing so well. Tallahassee had lost his crowbar and had resorted to kicking the thing into the garbage, where it was flailing, trying to drag itself up. He picked up one of the trash cans and threw it at the zombie, before he grabbed his crowbar again and gave the zombie a hard enough _whack_ that brains and bits went flying.

“Great,” Columbus said.

Wichita tossed the zombie Twinkie at the garbage cans as Tallahassee stalked away, cursing under his breath, toward the boarded-up bar.

Little Rock glanced at her sister and Columbus before she shrugged. “Well, we have to sleep somewhere.”

The idea of sleeping anywhere but the car sounded amazing, actually. He was starting to get afraid he was getting used to the cramp in his lower back and wouldn’t be able to sleep without it.

The bar wasn’t so bad, for all that the faded display sign proclaimed it had once been called _Spanky’s._ The front had a mesh-and-iron gate with a heavy lock and boards nailed over the windows. Tallahassee had stalked around to the alley to find the back door, so they just had to pick their way through the two zombies he’d cleared out already.

First glance inside revealed the place was a bit of a wreck, but no zombies and only a little gore, so… win.

“Score,” Little Rock called, bounding out of the backroom and into the main bar. “There’s a couch in the office!”

“Dibs,” Wichita said immediately. She hoisted her bag over her shoulder, heading that way, and Columbus followed her. The back office smelled like stale cigarettes and there were papers and scattered boxes everywhere, but there was also an honest-to-god couch in the corner. She slumped down onto it and leaned back with a groan. “I think my eyes might _literally_ fall out of my head if I don’t get some sleep.”

Columbus sat down next to her, and the couch made a groaning sound. “So…”

“I really gotta get some sleep—” Wichita said quickly, with an accompanying smile that looked slightly pained. “I’m sooo tired—”

“Oh. Right.” He’d been hoping they could talk, but she was just staring at him expectedly. “Well, sweet dreams.”

“Mhmm,” she said. “Thanks.”

He almost leaned forward to kiss her, but she turned around quickly, stuffing her jacket underneath her head and turning her back toward him.

Right.

He tried to ignore the twitch of dread in his stomach and got up. It left him no choice except to head back to the bar at the front.

Tallahassee was already sitting at one of the stools. Little Rock sat beside him, apparently consoling him over the zombie Twinkie. When Columbus came in she hopped off the stool. Most of the broken tables had been put against the front door as a sort-of barricade. There was a pool table in the corner. A lone surviving table and chairs were pushed toward the center of the room.

Behind the bar, it was worse. Most of the glass shelves had been shattered, and there was something sticky that seemed to cover… well, most of the floor and surfaces. Tallahassee had managed to grab one of the few unbroken bottles, and was staring at it morosely as Columbus took Little Rock’s stool.

“You know what I found out doesn’t expire?” Tallahassee said.

Columbus draped his double-barreled shotgun over his lap and eyed the amber bottle in Tallahassee’s hand. “Is it… tequila?”

“It’s _tequila,”_ Tallahassee said, raising both of his eyebrows meaningfully. He uncapped it, took a long swig of the bottle, and grimaced.

“Hooray,” Columbus murmured.

There was a muffled thump by the front door, but not the rhythmic drumming of a zombie who’d discovered some delicious treats. Columbus flinched anyway.

Tallahassee rolled his eyes. “Settle down, twitchy,” he said, taking another swig. “They don’t know we’re in here. Maybe he just wants a drink.” He snorted at his own joke.

Columbus tried to look a little more relaxed and put the shotgun up on the bar instead.

“Maybe _you_ should have a drink,” Tallahassee said. “Unclench a little.”

“I’m not clenched.”

“Dude,” Little Rock piped up from behind the bar. She’d managed to retrieve a fistful of darts—one from the gaping eye socket of one of the zombies in the alley—and snagged the bottle of tequila to douse them in the sink. “You’re _so_ clenched.”

“Heyheyhey—” Tallahassee complained. “Use the schnapps for that shit. Come on.”

Little Rock rolled her eyes, but put the bottle down and hopped up on one of the stools instead so she could reach the higher liquor shelves that held a few intact bottles. “You’re so clenched I’m pretty sure if you ate a spoonful of rocks you’d crap diamonds.”

“That’s…horribly graphic, thank you."

Little Rock shrugged and then hopped down so she could drown the darts in a large beer glass of peach schnapps.

Tallahassee gestured at her. “What are you gonna do with those?”

“Um, play darts?” she said. There was a dartboard still hanging haphazardly on the wall near the pool table. “Isn’t that what you do in a bar?”

“What, you’ve never been in a _bar_ before?”

Little Rock gave him a look.

“Right,” Tallahassee said, waving his hand. “Well, let me tell you what you do in a bar—it mainly involves this.”

He leaned forward and snagged a few glass tumblers from the bar sink, using his shirt cuff to clean out one of them before he poured a few inches of tequila in each.

“Now, see if you can find some salt anywhere—”

“She’s _twelve,”_ Columbus said.

“Yeah, a twelve-year-old that can shoot that rifle a lot better than you."

“I’m almost thirteen,” Little Rock chimed in, shooting an annoyed look at both of them. “It’s my birthday next week.”

Tallahassee blinked and then looked at Columbus. “It’s almost her _birthday_ next week and you want to deny the girl a chance to learn to properly throw back the Mexican mouthwash?”

“I don’t think you’re setting a very good example—” Columbus said under his breath.

Tallahassee scoffed, before he slopped half of the third glass into the two others. He slid that smaller one to Little Rock and then one of the others to Columbus.

“Found this—” Little Rock produced a small salt shaker from one of the tables and handed it to Tallahassee before climbing up onto the stool on his other side.

“Now the trick is _not_ to be a little bitch.” Tallahassee held up the shaker. He licked the inside of his wrist, sprinkled a helping of salt, licked again, and then knocked back his shot of tequila.

“I think I’m okay—” Columbus said, and Tallahassee sighed.

“What did I just say the trick was?”

Fine. _Fine._

Columbus’s face screwed up at the sharp and bitter taste of the alcohol as it burned down his esophagus, taking most of his taste buds with it. Tallahassee snorted.

Little Rock seemed to consider the half-inch of liquor before she repeated Tallahasse’s motion with the salt, and drained it. Her face was worse than Columbus’s, he thought, and he felt gratified about that for a minute until he realized he was pleased about out-drinking a twelve-year-old.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting, “ she said. “What is the salt even supposed to _do?”_

“Well, usually there’s a lime involved,” Tallahassee said. “But seeing as there ain’t no limes in this bar and probably not in the whole damn country, we’re just gonna have to take it like men. Or at least you and I will, and Columbus here—”

“Shut up,” Columbus said, and then took a second to regret it, but Tallahassee only smiled.

“Sure.” He poured another few inches in each of the three glasses. “But no flinching this time.”

That really left Columbus no choice except to knock it back again. This time, he forced himself not to wince. It burned going down almost as bad as before, and tasted worse, but by the end, he found he didn’t mind it as much. Tallahassee gave him an appreciative look and a small shrug that usually served as his version of approval.

“You wanna go again?” He edged the glass toward Little Rock, but she made a face.

Tallahassee shrugged and drank the two glasses down, then plucked the darts out of the glass of schnapps. “So let’s try the other thing you do in bars.”

“Hey, I’m the one that suggested darts in the first place—” Little Rock protested.

“Not that,” he said. “Well, that, but I meant a drinking game.”

“No thanks,” Columbus said. His tolerance must have been shot, or the adrenaline was finally winding down, because he could already feel his body buzzing a little. “I’m good.”

“Whoever’s farthest from the center ring takes a drink,” Tallahassee said, ignoring him. He took careful aim, and the dart struck three rings into the center.

“My turn,” Little Rock said.

Columbus frowned. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea—”

“What, you don’t think I’ll be good at this?” she asked, and threw her dart. It hit just a hair farther away than Tallahassee’s, who grinned.

“All right,” he said, putting the dart in Columbus’ hand.

Of course, his throw was shit. It went so wide it barely hit the board. This time, the tequila only burned a little going down.

Little Rock’s throw was the worst on the next round, but Columbus interjected again as Tallahassee handed her the bottle.

“Okay, I really don’t think—”

Little Rock sighed heavily. “ _Fine._ Then you drink mine.”

“Uh-“

“If you don’t want me to, then you have to drink mine,” she said. “I want to play. There still has to be a penalty.”

“I’m already drinking mine,” he protested.

Little Rock seemed to consider that. “Fine. You drink when I lose, and when you lose…you have to answer a question.”

Columbus was pretty sure Wichita wouldn’t want her little sister getting drunk. He frowned, but then Tallahassee interrupted.

“I think that’s fair. You don’t want to get the little girl liquored up, that’d be _irresponsible.”_

Hearing Tallahassee of all people say a word like ‘irresponsible’ felt like the world had been turned upside down—or maybe, considering the apocalypse, right-side-up again? Or was Tallahassee just mocking him? Columbus’s brain suddenly felt large and unwieldy and the thought felt hard to grasp.

Little Rock threw her dart and it stuck into the wood paneling. Tallahassee snorted, and then handed the bottle over to Columbus. “Come on. Drink up or shut up.”

* * *

“ _Rise_ and _shine_ —”

Something wet and unpleasant hit Columbus in the face and he jolted upward a few inches before his brain could fully warn him.

A wave of nausea, pain, and vertigo hit him all at once. He slumped back down on the ground. A bag had been stuffed under his head at some point, but the ground was very flat and very hard and also, for some reason, swirling around in circles.

“Morning, petunia,” two Tallahassees said, bearing down on him with twin grins.

Columbus shut his eyes quickly, breathing slowly out of his nose. Oh, God. He was hungover. He’d never been this fucking hungover. He lay there for about ten minutes, trying to make the spinning of the floor slow down. It didn’t help. He felt, rather than heard, someone else approach.

“Hey, champ.”

It was Wichita. He blinked and tried to sit up again, but instantly regretted it.

“Hi,” he managed.

“Wow,” she said, and the smile in her voice made him open his eyes, even though that made her face swim in front of his eyes for a second. She sat down beside him. “It looks like you guys had a wild night.”

He winced.

“With tattoos and everything,” she said with amusement, touching his forehead. He blinked, rubbing his hand against his face, and it came away purple and pink. It was one of Little Rock’s temporary tattoos.

“Classy, going with the butterflies,” Wichita said, smirking. “I’m more of a skull-and-roses girl myself.”

He grabbed the damp thing sitting on his chest. It turned out to be a rag Tallahassee had thrown at him. He managed to wipe off most of the purple stuff, an effort that left him nauseous. Wichita tried to look sympathetic, but there was a smile creeping along the corner of her mouth.

“Brought you these—” she said, putting down a bottle of baby aspirin and half a bottle of water. “Tell me if you need to lean over and puke or something.”

He managed to swallow down some of the baby aspirin, and took a swig of water even though his stomach cried out in protest.

“Just leave me here to die,” he murmured.

Wichita looked a little amused, but leaned over, pressing her cool hand to his brow. He opened his eyes again and managed a faint smile.

“Hey,” she said softly, suddenly looking stricken. That couldn’t be good.

“Um,” he said, panicking, but his brain felt too thick still and he hadn’t worked out how to prevent her from breaking up with him yet. “So…I just wanted to say sorry. About…what I said in Salt Lake City. I didn’t mean it.”

She shifted back, removing her hand from his forehead. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said, unable to read her face. “I mean, it’s crazy, right? We’ve gotten to know each other and I…really like you…”

“I like you too.”

He swallowed. That was…good. Okay. Her smile made his stomach knot a little. “Uh…good.”

Wichita exhaled, looking away before she bit her lip and glanced at him again. “I’ve never…said it.”

“That you like me?” he said, blinking.

“No,” she said, frowning at him. “That I…you know. To a guy. Before.”

Oh. _Oh._ Columbus blinked. “Wait, before....like the end of the world? Or before like,  _before_ before _?”_ _Stop saying before._

Wichita rolled her eyes. "Before. Full stop. I mean, I’ve said it but I’ve never…meant it. I freaked out a little. When you said it that night.”

Her face was still swimming slowly in front of his eyes, but he made himself focus. “Oh. Sure. I mean…everyone’s a zombie now and humanity’s pretty much over and me saying _I love you_ freaked you out. Right. Cool.”

“Yeah,” she said, widening her eyes before she bit her lip. “So, did you mean it or not?”

Oh God, he wished he was not hungover for this. Or prepared for this in any way.

“What will make you not break up with me?” he said weakly.

She exhaled, before she leaned down, and pressed her mouth to his.

It was a soft kiss, slow, and he tried to lean up again as she deepened it, but this time she pushed him back, as she slid her fingers softly through his hair. “ _I love you, too.”_

His heart skipped a beat, and he managed what he hoped was a suave grin. It probably didn’t work, because she made a face down at him, but then maybe it did, because she leaned in and kissed him again.

“And I think there’s some mouthwash in the back,” she whispered loudly as they broke apart, and pressed a kiss to his forehead before she got up. “Tell me if you need help getting to the car.”

“Mhmm,” he managed. He tried to watch her go but it made him dizzy so he closed his eyes again. The elation he felt churned uncomfortably with the hangover. Oh God, he was never drinking tequila again.

It was a shock no one mistook him for a zombie as he lurched out to the car. The way he was moving, he would’ve been easy bait, but thankfully the back alley and the parking lot remained clear. He got to the back of the SUV, where Little Rock was already buckled up, and somehow managed to tilt himself into the car and slowly drag himself into his seat.

“Hi,” Little Rock said, after watching the laborious process. “You look kinda rough.”

“I may or may not have thrown up behind those bushes,” he muttered, panting from exertion as he leaned his head back against the cushion and prayed for the sweet release of death.

“Gross,” she said. “You are super bad at darts, do you know that?”

He didn’t remember much of last night. Drinking, and darts, and… his head throbbed. And a lot of questions. Like, a ton of questions. He remembered talking a _lot._ His eyes opened.

In fact, he seemed to remember going on at length about…

Little Rock was grinning at him.

“What did—” he started, looking at her with bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t say anything… weird, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Okay, that was a relief.

“I mean, I didn’t think it was weird,” she said airily. “…Except for all that stuff about how you’re totally in looooove with my sister. Did you guys kiss and make up?”

That made his eyes fly open again.

Little Rock laughed at his expression. “Dude. Please. Anyone can tell you _like like_ her. It’s kind of gross. I mean, I love her, but I don’t think I’d be willing to get her name tattooed on my—”

“What?” Columbus said quickly, not willing to hear the end of that sentence.

“That’s what you said, right?” Little Rock asked, with a touch too much innocence. “Don’t you remember? Last night?”

He… really didn’t. Darts. Tequila. Tallahassee laughing and Little Rock refilling the tumbler in his hand a little too smoothly.

“No! I mean, of course I...” He felt the back of his neck heat up. “She’s really…. really great—”

Little Rock was staring at him.

“And… with your permission, of course—” he stuttered, because suddenly the force of her stare was reminding him uncomfortably of Tallahassee.

It stretched on for another few seconds, before she grinned at him and looked twelve again.

“Whatever.” She punched his arm with enough force that he felt it reverberate up through his spine and into his throbbing head. He winced. “I like you. And I guess my sister does, too, so it’s okay. You aren’t a total loser.”

“Thanks?”

“But just remember: if you break her heart, I’m gonna tell her and everyone I’ve ever met that when you were born the doctor thought you were abnormal because your head was such a weird shape.”

 _Oh, god_.

His heart skipped a beat for a second, and he stared at her, surprise registering before suddenly recalling in very vague details the things that he’d said the night before.

Little Rock grinned. “And that your first crush was Dot from _Animaniacs_.”

And the weird questions that had come in, pointed and direct, the alcohol making it so easy to answer...

She leaned toward him, her eyes serious. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I didn’t tell her anything.” She paused. “And hopefully I’ll never, ever have to.”

There was a moment where she did that thousand-yard-stare again that was somehow scarier coming out of her than Tallahassee, and then she leaned back to flip through a magazine Wichita had managed to scavenge from the Shell station.

Wichita got into the shotgun seat up front and Tallahassee got behind the wheel, slamming the door. The metallic thump made a small groan escape Columbus’s mouth as the migraine went white-hot for a split-second.

“Poor baby,” Wichita murmured, which was just indulgent enough that it made Columbus smile and made everyone else in the car roll their eyes.

Whatever. He loved his girlfriend and guess what? She loved him back. There were some things that definitely didn’t last, like Twinkies. Or hangovers. Or temporary tattoos, thank god, because he’d caught sight of his reflection while dragging himself into the car and realized there was another butterfly plastered on his cheek. He was too tired to rub it off.

And maybe some things that did last. Like tequila. And like him and Wichita, maybe. If he didn’t fuck it up.

The car started and they pulled out into the back alley. Tallahassee whistled a tune Columbus vaguely recognized. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the roiling sensation of the wheels underneath him. They hit a speed bump that squelched beneath the tires, sending his head rocking back against the seat. Tallahassee chuckled at his groan.

“I can’t believe you guys got drunk on tequila without me,” Wichita said.

“Don’t look at me,” Tallahassee said casually. “I hate the taste of that shit. Never drink it.”

Columbus’s eyes flew open. Tallahassee was grinning at him in the rearview mirror. He started to whistle again, and Little Rock joined in this time.

Yeah. And that apparently the fact that he should never, ever, trust Tallahassee and Little Rock together.

Tallahassee was still grinning.

Little Rock abandoned the whistle and started in with the lyrics.

_“It's definitely not a Nashville party_

_'Cause all I see are stilettos_

_I guess I never got the memo_ —”

“I hate you guys,” Columbus muttered, slumping over.


End file.
